


Justice

by Zoe Rayne (MontanaHarper)



Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-03
Updated: 2004-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-02 11:17:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MontanaHarper/pseuds/Zoe%20Rayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>There's something seductive about being up here, half stripped and bound, the light gleaming on his skin. Powerful in the way it makes him completely powerless.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Justice

**Author's Note:**

> Suggestions of incest, if you squint. _Caveat lector_.
> 
> I wrote this in IRC ages ago. I don't _think_ anyone co-wrote it with me, but if I'm wrong (because all I have is a clean text file of it), let me know and I'll credit.

>   
> _"A few hundred dollars should clear that right up, son."_  
> "But Dad, you don't **get** it. I don't **want** it 'cleared up.' If the people of Smallville are ever going to respect me, they've got to see that I don't expect special favors just because I'm a Luthor."  
> "No Luthor has ever been—"  
> 

~ * ~ * ~

Pale white skin glowing faintly in the gathering dusk, Lex stands with his head held high, refusing to close his eyes against the stares of the townspeople. He hears footsteps behind him, and the crack of the whip nearly makes him jump. The crowd is all in shadow now; Lex can no longer pick out Nell's face, or Whitney's.

The whip cracks behind him a second time and he feels a trickle of sweat thread its way over his ribs. The flogging is obviously not going to be the worst part. The waiting, _that's_ the worst part. Waiting for the sting of the first stroke across his back.

And when it finally comes, the sharp burning is flaying him before he ever hears the crack of the leather against his skin.

"One."

Lex opens his eyes in surprise, not even realizing that he'd closed them. The voice....

And the lash kisses his back a second time, burning a second stripe across the first and drawing a hiss of breath from him.

"Two."

He'd prepared himself for the humiliation of a public flogging, as much as anyone can prepare for something like that, but for _him_ to execute the punishment. Lex isn't sure he could ever be prepared for that.

He realizes that he's already tensed for the third blow, but it's not coming. He takes a deep breath, forces himself to relax. His wrists are beginning to ache from the chains, and the muscles in his shoulders threaten to cramp.

The third blow catches him by surprise, the tip of the whip wrapping around his left side.

"Three."

In front of him the shadowy mass of people is thinning. Peering into the darkness—a distraction from the certain knowledge of another blow from the whip—Lex is almost certain he can make out Nell's face, the firelight reflecting from her wide eyes. She'll be there when the flogging is done, with sympathy in her voice and hunger in her eyes and....

The fourth blow lands across his lower back, driving thoughts of Nell and of afterwards out of Lex's mind.

"Four."

A wet trickle—sweat or blood? Lex wonders—trails down his back. Then,

"Five."

"Six."

...in rapid succession, taking away Lex's breath and ripping a whimper from his throat.

His hands clench reflexively around the chains and he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. He isn't supposed to like this. And yet....

There's something seductive about being up here, half stripped and bound, the light gleaming on his skin. Powerful in the way it makes him completely powerless.

A deep breath and Lex pushes up on his toes, trying to ease the strain on his shoulders. He feels the next stroke like it's down to the bone and knows that his ribs will be bruised in the morning. Knows, too, that it was punishment for moving.

"Eight."

His back's on fire now, sweat running freely and stinging the marks scored across his back. He doesn't have a chance to catch his breath before the whip lands again, laying down a line of pain just above his waist. He hisses in a breath, not wanting to make a sound.

"Nine."

One more, he tells himself. Just one more and this will all be over. One more and he can go home, can try to forget the way his nipples pebbled and ached, the way his cock twitched with every stinging blow.

One more.

But "ten" doesn't come when he expects it to. The hesitation is long enough that the shadowed crowd starts to move, a quiet hum of voices in front of him making him want to crane his neck, to see what's happening behind him.

He doesn't dare.

Just as the fear begins to coil, an icy snake in his gut that's freezing him from the inside out, he senses movement behind him. Not enough time to tense, to prepare, before another thin line of pain is etched into his back.

"Ten."

Lex breathes a sigh of relief. It's over.

A whisper of clothing behind him, and hands on his forearms. Slack in the chain and his arms are suddenly as heavy as lead, dropping down until his wrists are in front of his face. Hands as familiar as his own release the chains and Lex's legs are unwilling to support his weight. He falls back, caught in strong arms, too hurting and too humiliated to care anymore.

A whisper in his ear—"Are you happy now, son?"—his father's voice as rough as his beard against Lex's cheek.

> "All pain is a punishment, and every punishment is inflicted for love as much as for justice."  
> _—Joseph de Maistre_  
> 


End file.
